The Best Things in Life...

As much as a part of me protests, my body cannot seem to sleep any later than 8:15 am--even, and especially, on the weekends--when, my memory of being a teenager and my 20's could sometimes find me clinging to my pillow well after noon--and then a nap was required, especially on weekends. My mind seems to signal that I need to rise and go look in my backyard, to see if the birds are congregating at the feeders, to see if "Roy," the hummingbird, and his girl, Joy, have returned--or Buzz, yep, the bee, or Snoop, the large grey pigeon, or the nasty mockingbird. The palette of nature in my backyard is amazing, seeing that I live in the heart of the city, near major thoroughfares, a large, noisy hospital, and can hear the Amtrak horns several times each day and night. But, the birds, bees, squirrels, hummingbirds, worms--and cats don't seem to know their proper geography. They feast on the fertile soil, of centuries of past farmers and orchards..and play among the roses, lilies, wisteria, plums, figs, jasmine, lavender, lilacs and iris that have found a healthy home in the small plot of land on Divisadero.
All of the old poems about gardens, those that I rejected because of their hokiness and smaltz, now, I get it... I understand...I feel the presence of God, and good in my garden... in the things that I planted, but that the earth grew. As I picked figs from my trees today, and tasted the sweetness dripping down my chin...and, as I nibbled on the lavender and mint...I felt the kinship with planters and growers of the ages...and especially in this fertile Valley.
As I sat with my coffee, and breathed in the morning air, with the sound of finches, mockingbirds and thrush around the gurgling fountain...and watched Roy signal to Joy that there was a prize in the Bottlebrush branch...I thought, who can sleep?